The tall wooden gate of Baerlon loomed before him, a structure of impressive—and deeply unsettling—permanence. Unlike the modest wooden fence that enclosed Emond's Field, this was a wall, made of thick, rough-hewn logs topped with guard towers. The sheer size of the town beyond felt like a weight settling on his chest. Dust from the road coated his clothes, a thin layer of grime on the worn wool of his coat and the scuffed leather of his boots. He ran a hand through his hair, a coppery red that even among the Two Rivers folk drew glances, and now, it felt like a beacon announcing him as an outsider.

He straightened his shoulders, a broad frame that felt awkward and too large even to him. His grey-blue eyes, wide with a farmer's wary curiosity, swept across the street. The air here tasted of coal smoke and something else, a sour metallic tang that suggested mining, not the earthy, fertile scent of the Two Rivers. Merchants barked their wares from crowded stalls, a cacophony of voices louder and harsher than any Emond's Field market day. The constant press of strangers made his skin crawl, a prickling sensation that had been with him since they had started their long flight.

The heron-marked sword at his side felt impossibly heavy, an alien weight that drew stares from those who noticed it. He could almost feel their eyes on his back, their gazes a mixture of suspicion and a morbid sort of fascination. His father's sword, a thing of legend and skill that he was completely unworthy of, was a brand announcing him as something other than what he was. He clenched his jaw, gripping the bundle he carried a little tighter, a small piece of familiar Two Rivers comfort in a sea of strange faces.

A different sort of oddness crept over him then. A flush, hot and exhilarating, started in his chest and spread through his limbs. It was a dizzying sensation, almost like fever but giddier, as if the air itself was buzzing with a reckless, joyful energy. A grin, alien and confident, touched his lips for a moment before vanishing as abruptly as it came. He stumbled, gripping the hilt of his sword to steady himself as the heady rush faded, replaced by a hollow fear. What was that? It wasn’t a Two Rivers feeling. He looked away from the curious glances of some white-cloaked figures and quickened his pace, the sudden, desperate urge for a safe room and a locked door overriding all other thoughts. He had to get away from these people, to find a place where he could try to make sense of what was happening to him.